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inmyheaddd · 2 days ago

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kiss it off me - jameson hawthorne x reader

a/n: hold me.. console me.. then ill leave without a trace... woah i haven't posted a fic in a hot minute!!! this idea has been brewing in my mind since like october... may become a series, who knows!! anyway, i hope you enjoy 💖 wc: 5k synopsis: you and your long time best friend, jameson, meet up on a stranded beach to escape for a little while. who cares about anything else when the person you love looks hurt? warnings: tobias is alive in this, best friends who r inlove, what else is new?

Your leg bounced up and down in front of you as you waited, sitting on a bench overlooking the beach.

You came early so you’d have some alone time, time to think, but you quickly realised that was the worst idea ever, because you didn’t want to think.

You wanted to shut your mind off, you wanted to just be, and most of all, you just wanted to see Jameson.

So, there you sat, an hour earlier than the time you had agreed on with Jameson, wishing you had something to do other than sit and wonder and rattle your brain with thoughts.

You’d been doing more than enough overthinking this winter.

The beach was a pretty sight, the sun starting to set, painting the sky shades of orange and pink, clouds looking like oversized strings of cotton candy in the sky.

You let out a frustrated sigh of boredom, got up from the bench, and walked over to the sand. You looked around on the isolated beach—you were the only one here.

Your family owned this strip of the beach, so you weren’t surprised that it was empty.

It had quickly become one of you and Jameson’s favourite hideout places. Not that you were particularly hiding from anything; it was more so just an escape from everything and everyone else.

On that beach, nothing existed but you and Jameson, with the sand, the sky, and the sea.

You walked over to the blanket you always kept on the beach, folded and placed underneath a rock about twice the size of your fist to keep it from blowing away.

You unfolded it, sat down, and entertained yourself by putting some breathing exercises into practice. Your therapist had given them to you months ago, but if you were being quite honest, you didn’t think of using them a single time after you left that room.

You weren’t even anxious; you were simply bored. You wished you had your headphones with you, or something to keep you company.

The sun was setting even further; you stared out onto the beach in front of you and wished Jameson was seeing the sunset with you. Your favourites were the ones that had hints of pink and purples in them, while he liked the ones that ‘were golden and painted everything else golden too.’

He would love this one.

You then looked at your watch, which was a huge mistake. Whenever you thought about the time or checked it, it only seemed to pass infinitely slower.

Only 10 minutes had passed since you last checked. Another deep breath, and you exhaled it all as you held your head in your hands.

You brought your knees up to your chest and then hugged your arms around them. Your hoodie kept you warm, and so did the layers you had on underneath, but you still felt a weird shiver in your bones. You made a conscious effort to not check the time, then looked up.

You turned your head left, seeing nothing but the beach, then right, and saw a figure far away, walking in your direction.

The walk, the clothes, and the way this person began jogging once they spotted you—it all told you it was Jameson.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched on your face. You brought your arm up, waving wildly at him. He was closer now, and you could see the own grin on his face as he sent you a chin nod and waved back.

You looked back at your legs as he finally approached the blanket you sat on. “Hey, you.’’ He breathed out, standing over you for a second and grinning, only a little out of breath after running 100 metres or so, just to get to you.

With a smile, you brought your gaze up to him, ‘’Hey there yourself,’’ you laughed through your sentence at the stupidity of the greeting.

“Pretty sunset, isn’t it?” He said

Just like how you had expected. “Yeah,” you nodded in appreciation of the sky, “It’s pretty.”

He suddenly tilted his head slightly. “You’re early,” he pointed out, and then with a furrow of his brow, he said, “How long have you been here?”

You ignored the last part of his question. You glanced at your watch before answering, “Technically, you’re also early. ’’

“Technically, I don’t care.”

“Okay, still. Why are you early?” You insisted. If you were being honest, you were insanely thankful that he was here right now, and didn’t arrive an hour later like you’d originally planned.

You had absolutely no clue what you’d do for an hour, which seemed to stretch on forever when you were alone.

He was silent for a moment, then sighed as he finally sat down, leaning back with his legs outstretched, looking at you. ‘’I know you; I know you’d be early.’’

You quirked a brow up, despite the way your stomach erupted with butterflies. I know you.

‘’Okay…?’’ You forced a chuckle, tearing your gaze away from Jameson and telling those butterflies in your stomach to respectfully leave and never come back. ‘’What does that have to do with you being early?’’

Jameson shrugged like it was obvious, looking at the sea when you finally looked at him again. ‘’I just wanted to spend more time with you.’’

The butterflies did not leave and never come back.

You wished they would’ve, because Jameson was your friend. Your best friend, though you felt that friend wasn’t even a good enough term to describe what you were.

You’d known each other since you were kids, been there for each other when your family wasn’t, and seen each other through just about every embarrassing phase there is. You often times felt as if you knew each other better than you knew yourselves.

Friend didn’t cover it.

But whatever he was, whatever your friendship was—it didn’t include romantic feelings.

Again, you wished those millions of butterflies to go find someone else to torment.

“The real reason?” You prodded, raising a brow at him.

‘’That is the real reason.’’ He protested, gasping in mock offence. ‘’Although, I wouldn’t be lying if I said that one of Xander’s started making a weird buzzing noise… And, well… Getting out of the house was the safest option."

You felt a little twang of disappointment, then you felt annoyed that you were feeling disappointed. “Since when did you care about safety?”

Jameson shot you a look. “Since I don’t want my eyebrows burnt off.” He deadpanned.

“Okay, fair.” You rolled your eyes with a slight laugh. "Well. I’m glad you’re here.’’ You said a little quieter. “With both of your eyebrows intact.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” His eyes glinted with a smile, “With… both of my eyebrows intact.”

You were both silent for a second, holding back laughs as you looked at each other, until Jameson let out a snort— and you both started laughing.

You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head as you tried to control your giggles.

God, could you get any more awkward? This was why you hated the idea of having feelings for him, because then you started to act different and make things awkward by saying things like I’m glad you’re here with both of your eyebrows intact.

You were a goner.

Your laughter died out, then you started talking about your respective days—the things that set you off, the things you waited to tell each other in person, overall, about nothing and everything.

After a moment of silence, you looked over at him, noticing a strange look on his face as he stared out at the horizon. There was a deep crease in his dark brows, his expression almost grim. You scooted a little closer to him.

“What’s up with you?” You nudged his shoulder gently. “You have that weird… furrow in your brow.”

“Nothing's up with me.” He turned to look at you, offering one of those dangerously distracting Jameson Winchester Hawthorne grins for a moment.

But it didn’t work. It looked off and strained. “What’s up with you?”

“Deflecting and a weird look?” You raised your brow incredulously. “ We hang out too much for that lie to work on me.”

He sighed dramatically, looking forward. The sky was shades of dark pink and orange now, the sun bouncing off the clouds and colouring them.

Jameson looked at you once again, his green eyes looked extra inviting with the pink sky around him, like a dangerous sea you could get lost in, possibly never find your way out of, but one you almost wanted to get lost in nonetheless.

His eyes flickered over you, and you got the feeling he was trying to read your expression. “It’s times like these I wish you didn’t care about me." He said so casually, "Then I wouldn’t have to face my emotions.”

The way he said it—without realising, he made it sound like there were other emotions, not just whichever ones he was dealing with right now.

“Oh, don’t worry.” You responded jokingly, rolling your eyes the slightest bit. “I don’t care about you. Not in the slightest.”

Jameson’s smile seemed a little less strained at that. “Wonderful.”

“Truly.”

“Agreed.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, seeing if he’d say anything else.

He didn’t.

If this were anyone else, you’d stay quiet.

But this was Jameson; your friendship meant more to you than the fear of being seen as annoying or pushy. Besides, you quickly learnt that Jameson wouldn’t talk unless he had that push, even if he did really want to.

“Okay, enough of these one-word answers.” You sighed, trying to mask the pure concern you felt with a light chuckle. “What the hell is wrong?”

Jameson chuckled humourlessly, propping himself back up on his hands again. “You know how it is,” he said, “the usual.”

“The usual as in the old man?” You deadpanned, “Or the usual as in you did something reckless to shut your brain off?” There was no point in beating around the bush, especially when you both knew each other more than anyone else in your life.

Jameson didn’t meet your eyes. He shrugged casually, “The usual as in both.”

Your heart tore a little at his words. You wondered if he was lying about one of Xander’s machines exploding. Then you thought about it; you knew Xander, and knew he often resorted to his robotics room when he felt hurt.

It was highly probable that Jameson wasn't lying. He just wasn't telling the full truth.

It was a Saturday. What could the old man have said that managed to ruin his grandsons like this?

You hated how Tobias could reduce your best friend to a mess of feelings and emotions—to a boy who felt like he wasn’t good enough and would never be—with just a few disapproving words.

Nobody should have that amount of power. Ever.

You pressed your lips together for a moment. “I don’t like your grandpa. Not one bit.”

“That's funny.” That dry, sad chuckle of Jameson’s was killing you. He ran a hand through his hair. Roughly. “He rather likes you. Says you’re a bright girl, a good influence for me.”

“I told you, Jameson,” your voice came out softer than you intended, “I don’t care about anything he has to say.”

He called Jameson ordinary.

Jameson felt like he was betraying Tobias for simply telling you what he said.

That was the moment you lost respect for the man.

“Everything he says is bullshit. If you don’t want to talk about it, I get that.” You paused for a second, watching his expression and waiting for him to meet your eyes.

The second he did, you almost wished he didn’t, because the look of sheer hurt in his eyes almost made you lose your breath.

’But Jamie…” You couldn’t hide the worry on your face anymore. “Please know whatever he says isn’t worth anything. If you’re going to trust me on one thing, let it be that.”

Jameson was silent for a moment, looking down at the sand. His voice came out hoarse, then he finally met your eyes. “I trust you with everything.”

You managed a little smile because you had a feeling that if you didn’t, you would’ve probably teared up instead. “You still wishing I didn’t care about you?”

Jameson shut his eyes for a moment, chuckling. “God, no.” He admitted. “I don’t even know what I’d do without you.”

He said the last part so simply, so matter-of-factly, you almost didn’t catch it until you realised what he said.

“If it’s any consolation,” you started, a slow smile dragging on your lips, “I trust you with everything, too.”

Jameson went still for a moment, something shifting in his expression.

He masked it so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely.

Then his grin slowly returned. “Some would say that’s a dangerous choice.” His voice was playful, but his eyes told a different story.

“I don’t mind dangerous.” You shrugged.

Now his eyes turned teasing. “You probably should.”

You rolled your eyes at the irony, but you still couldn’t even manage a small laugh because of the moments prior. “Look who’s talking, Jamie.”

“Hey, I do mind it sometimes,” He raised his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes, I like playing dangerous; I’m simply saying... I don’t like playing it dangerous when it comes to us.”

Us. He said that like it was something important to him.

“Yeah.” You tried not to overthink what he just said. He didn’t want to play it dangerous, as in he cared about your friendship so much? Or was he trying to say he didn’t want to take it any further than friends? And let you down slowly? Or was he saying the opposite, that he was scared to?

Your eyes flickered over his face as your thoughts ran, finally focusing on his eyes. “Good. We’re keeping us safe.”

He ran a hand through his hair, smiling at you. “Good.” He echoed.

After that, neither of you said anything else for a minute, which you didn’t mind. You fell into a comfortable silence as you so often did. It was never awkward with him, there was never a need to fill the silence. You could just be there with each other and exist.

That was what you loved. In both of your lives, there was always way too much pressure on who you had to be, the way you had to act.

But there was no pressure when it was just you two.

You stared out at the beach in front of you, quickly entranced at the way the waves met the shore, the way nature seemed like the only constant when everything else was hectic in your life.

Well, nature, and you and Jameson.

‘’It’s freezing, c’mere.’’ His voice shook you out of your trance-like state. He didn’t have a grin on his face like you’d expected when you looked over at him, but more so a look of concern.

He opened his arms out for you, and you let out a little laugh as you scooted closer, leaning into his chest.

Your arms wrapped around his torso, head on his chest. “It is freezing.” You paused, “Oh God, I feel my teeth clattering.’’

“Yeah? I can hear it.” Jameson laughed, slowly lowered the both of you down onto the blanket, then his arm began running up and down your arm, the other bringing you even closer in attempts to make you feel less cold.

You lay in each other’s arms, your head on his chest as you looked up at the sky above you.

You stayed like that for a while, simply talking.

Every time he laughed, you felt his laughter, and you thought, surely there’s no other better feeling, his laughter vibrating through your body.

Feeling it warm your heart like it was your own happiness doing the job.

The sun quickly set, and the stars were on full display. You specifically loved this beach, because it was so far away from all the city lights that put those stars to death. You could see everything when it finally got dark.

You lay in his arms while you spotted constellations, and laughed while arguing with Jameson over which one was which.

“I’m telling you, that’s the Big Dipper. I’m sure of it.’’ He said, unwrapping one arm from around you and pointing to a bundle of stars.

‘’No, Jameson,’’ You guided his arm over to the left with your hand, ‘’That’s the Big Dipper.’’

You turned over in his arms to face him, one of his arms wrapped under your waist as you lay on your side.

Your head was propped up with your other hand, so you watched his expression as he lay on the blanket, and he hummed in thought with his eyebrows furrowed.

He opened his mouth to argue but then fell flat. ‘’Oh.’’

He pointed back at the stars he was pointing at earlier, your hand still on his arm. "So… what’s that then?”

You paused, looking at them for a good minute, trying to decipher which constellation it was. You came up blank.

“My knowledge might be limited, but…’’ you mumbled, your hand returning back to your side, and then you looked down at him again. “I don’t think that even is a constellation. They’re just some stars.”

Jameson was silent for a moment before putting his arm back down in defeat. He hummed, “That’s oddly sad.”

You adjusted the way you sat, scooting back into his arms and laying your head on his chest as both arms wrapped around you. You hadn’t realised how cold you were just a minute earlier until you felt warm.

Your hand drew patterns on Jameson’s arm. “But it doesn’t have to be.’’ You muttered, hesitating slightly. "I mean, they can still be important without being a constellation. They can just be stars.”

“They can just be stars,” Jameson repeated, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you could hear his heartbeat, your ear on his chest. “I like that.”

“Listen,” he started again, “This defeats the whole purpose of what you just said, but… Why don’t we just make it our own constellation?”

You laughed a little, shaking your head. “Just let them be stars, Jamie, for Godsake.” You huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Just tell me what you see. After we leave this beach, they’ll go back to being stars. But when we’re here, it’s our little constellation.”

“Okay, fine.” You rolled your lips inwards, “Our constellation…” You trailed off, trying to find something that fit those clusters of stars.

“I can’t see anything.” You admitted after a long second.

You were almost saddened by the fact that you had a chance to make some special moment between the two of you, something for those butterflies—that insisted on never going away—to actually have something to be happy about.

Instead of saying all that, you just stared at the stared at the stars and saw nothing extraordinary. Hiding that weird sense of melancholy, you asked Jameson, “Well, what do you see?’’

“I see…” he chuckled, “God, what do I see? I think… I see a bench… With two people on it.”

“A bench?” You questioned.

“Yes, a bench,’’ he craned his neck down to shoot you a look, then leaned his head back on the blanket. ‘’Those ones at the bottom, those are the legs; then that part is the bench; then those are the heads of the people.” He said, pointing at each part as he went along. “See?”

You squinted as you tried to imagine the picture Jameson was trying to paint. You tried, you really did, but you had no idea what he was on about. "Oh, actually, yeah!’’ You said, nodding. “Yeah, I see it.”

A silence followed… Then Jameson suddenly started laughing.

You felt him chuckling against you, so you lifted your head. The sight of his smile was enough to make the biting cold disappear for a moment. ‘’What?” You said through a smile, unable to stop yourself from laughing too.

“You are by far,’’ Jameson managed through a series of low laughs, one arm slung over his face as he continued laughing. ‘’The world’s worst liar.”

Your jaw fell open, accompanied by uncontrollable laughter on your end too. “What! I’m not lying—I do see it!”

Jameson kept laughing, so you fully sat up, pushing yourself off of him and crossing your legs. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched you.

“Look! I see it!” You wouldn’t believe yourself if you were him, because you couldn’t even speak without laughing through every sentence.

“That's the bench, and those are the legs, and uhm… Those are the heads. It’s our constellation!” You pointed up at the sky, vaguely in the direction of the stars you were looking at.

“I beg of you,” Jameson’s laughter was dying out, but he still had that smile on his face, ‘’Never attempt to lie again. That was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not lying.” You said through a stifled giggle, putting your most serious face on.

“Say that again without that look in your eyes, and then I’ll believe you.” Jameson said.

Your smile faltered a little, and everything else in that moment seemed to slow down for a moment as you stayed looking at him, “What look in my eyes?”

Jameson’s endless green eyes never left yours. He pressed his lips together for a moment, then let out a low chuckle, which more so sounded like a sigh. He didn’t answer your question. “Nothing. Lay with me for a while, will you?”

A part of you was disappointed he changed the subject; what did he mean by ‘look in your eyes’?

Then you criticised yourself for being disappointed. He probably just meant a teasing glint in your eye, like the one he has before he’s about to say something stupid in hopes of making you laugh.

You shook yourself out of your stupor, looking at the sky for a second before you looked back at Jameson.

With a roll of your eyes, you uncrossed your legs and shifted towards Jameson. “What a stupid question.” You remarked. “Of course I will.”

Jameson’s expression turned amused with a raise of his brows. “Insulting and sweet, all in one go.” Jameson said, almost in appreciation. He lay on his back, and you on your side. “You are an enigma.”

“Don’t push your luck,” You muttered back, resting your hand underneath your face as you looked at him. “Next time, I’ll be just insulting.”

He turned to look at you, his hands resting behind his head casually with his elbows wide and relaxed. “I won’t mind.” He said simply.

You managed a dirty look, which only resulted in the both of you laughing. Your voice was hushed, “You are very strange.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love strange.” He responded, a low chuckle escaping as he spoke.

You swore his eyes literally shone— glinted, sparkled, any word in the dictionary to describe something shiny could’ve been used to describe his eyes in that moment, but it still didn’t feel true enough.

You were a little obsessed with the way they always seemed to be a little smiley when it was just you around.

You managed a bored, frustrated sigh as you puffed out your lips. “And what gave you that impression?”

“Quite a few things, actually.” Jameson’s voice was low and gravely. He grinned at you, his eyes lidded slightly.

Your brows furrowed at that statement. Why was he saying things like that today? What on earth did that mean too? You were too tired to worry about it.

You felt a shiver pass through you as you looked away, then Jameson rose a brow and took that as a sign to open his arms out for you.

Wordlessly, you accepted the invite as you shuffled forward into his open arms. His arms wrapped around you tight, like they had a million times before. And you curled up against him, your arms around his middle.

You just then realised how late it had gotten. You’d been here since sunset, and the sky was completely dark now. Yes, it was dark this whole time you were stargazing, but you didn’t really let the fact sink in.

How long had passed? 3 hours? 4?

You noticed that Jameson’s breath steadied, his hold on you the tiniest bit looser. Your own eyes were feeling extremely heavy.

You tried to stay awake, to dwell in the moment a little longer and memorise the feel of Jameson’s arms around you, the faint smell of his cologne—faint cedar and whiskey—and the comforting chill of the breeze.

You couldn’t help closing your eyes for just a few seconds.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you found yourself lying in a completely different position than you slept in, Jameson’s front against your back with both his arms around you. You and Jameson must’ve fallen asleep still holding each other because of the cold gust of winds.

You carefully unravelled Jameson's arms around you. The pins and needles in your arm told you: you definitely did not just close your eyes for a few seconds. It must’ve been way past midnight by now.

Still slightly numb, your pushed yourself up so you were sitting up slightly.

Your attention went back to Jameson when you heard him groan slightly, his arms patting the blanket for a second, then he shifted to lay on his back.

You looked at the way stars shone in the distance, the sun long, long gone, and replaced by the moon. You then looked down at Jameson, who was still lying down, and his eyes were fluttering open slowly.

Thank goodness for the moonlight, and the faint beach house lights far away that illuminated his features in the prettiest way.

His eyes then opened fully, and you locked eyes for a moment.

A small smile played on his lips as he furrowed his brows slightly, as if asking you, What are you looking at?

You smiled back, despite your heart beating faster in your chest and feeling like you got caught in the act.

A part of you wondered how you could feel so warm inside when it was the middle of winter.

Jameson simply opened his arms out once again from below you, beckoning you in.

You didn’t move, only letting out a sleepy laugh as you tried to engrain this image in your mind—the slight messiness of his hair, messier than usual, the way the green in his eyes was no longer visible because of the dark, but they still gleamed and glittered all the same.

You suddenly wished you had thought of the time more, so that it would’ve passed slower.

“Come here,” he grumbled, feigning annoyance with that stupid smile on his face, his voice tinged with sleepiness.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely,” you mumbled back, as if you spoke any louder, the moment would shatter.

Your voices didn’t need to carry much volume in this moment, because you didn’t really need them. He could understand you just with a single look. You understood each other.

You fell back into his arms, and his arms wrapped around you a little tighter this time.

One hand was doing the same thing as last time, running up and down your arm, while the other was wrapped around your waist and pulling you close, like if he held you any looser you would slip between his fingers—someone trying to pick up sand, or hold water in their hands.

Your legs tangled in each other's, Jameson's soothing hand began to slow down, but you selfishly didn’t want to fall asleep quite yet.

“Jameson?” You mumbled against his chest.

He hummed, and you felt the vibrations coming from his chest. “Yes?”

“What if…” You started, “What if this was every day? What if we just ran away from everything for a while?”

You were rambling nonsense, of course you weren’t going to run away. You couldn’t lie and say you never thought of it, but, it was simply reckless.

You could afford the consequences of running away, not with who your parents were and the image you’d paint.

‘’I think… I wouldn’t mind my days being full of you.’’ He confessed quietly, ‘’I mean, having fun with you. Making memories, living life to the fullest, and all that jazz." He continued, his hand resuming going up and down your arm. He exhaled, and you felt his neck move, looking down at you. ‘’You got any more ‘what if’s’ for me?’’

You hummed in thought—you had a lot. “Yeah, actually.” You laughed slightly, “What if we get hypothermia out here? And, like, die before we get the chance to even run away?’’

You felt him let out a low, sleepy chuckle against you. You bit back your smile even though he couldn’t see you, out of sheer habit.

You wanted to lift your head and see his face, see his smile, but you felt way too comfortable on his chest to move a single inch, and you had that nagging feeling that if you did get up, you wouldn’t be able to find the same comfortable way you were laying when you went back down.

“Never mind.’’ He decided, his voice breaking your thoughts. “No more what if’s for you.”

If only that could silence the what if’s that lingered in your mind.

“Hey!” you defended yourself, laughing slightly. “It’s a valid question.”

His hand that was previously on your back lifted up, and you suddenly felt cold again, until he began toying with the ends of your hair, then ran his hands through it, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold down your spine.

“One that I don’t have the answer to. We’ll see when we wake up.”

You managed a laugh despite your tiredness, and also managed another sarcastic remark. “But… will we?”

You heard him gasp incredulously, though it was quiet. “You,’’ he tapped your shoulder as if to emphasise your point, ‘’Are one dark, twisted person. If you don’t have hopes for us surviving one night, how do you have hopes for anythingelse?”

“I’m not dark and twisted! I have hope, I swear.” You felt yourself getting sleepier, eyes getting heavier, and you couldn’t help the light chuckles passing by your lips. “I’m just tired. Anything feels possible when you’re awake.” You stifled a yawn, ‘’Especially with you—like, having someone with you to keep you going. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Jameson said. “I’ll still know you’re there, though. Even if I’m sleeping. Or tired. You’re in my arms. Anything still feels possible.” He continued lowly, “So, I will survive hypothermia.”

Jameson’s voice could almost bring you to sleep. A giggle slipped your lips, “You’re going to survive hypothermia by sheer willpower? Subconciously?”

“Thats the goal, yes.”

Shaking your head, you let out a long sigh. “You and your Hawthorne overachiever goals.’’

You felt Jameson laugh tiredly against you, then you realised he was trying to keep himself awake, like you were, for the sole purpose of staying in the moment together for longer.

‘’Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into when we first met. You knew me.”

You let out a sigh, picturing the little middle-school version of you both ditching an event held by your parents, and accidentally meeting each other by the staircase to the cellar. Your spot.

You remembered your frustration when he asked you what you were doing there, when he was in your house.

Then you remembered thinking his green eyes were quite pretty, and after you got to talking, thinking he wasn’t all that bad.

“I pretty much did, yeah.” You agreed with a light laugh.

Though, a part of that wasn’t true. Sure, you picked up on his dangerous, devastating smile, that he was a risk taker, and that he did things according to his will. You knew he was a Hawthorne, and that Hawthorne’s weren’t easy or simple.

But you would’ve never known upon seeing him that first time, that you would develop a friendship with him that made you believe in fate.

“Then you should know,” He said, “hypothermia is not standing a chance against us.”

That word again. Us.

“If we survive the night,” You jokingly started, hearing Jameson hold back a laugh and mask it with a cough, “Let’s do something crazy tomorrow to honour it.”

“Crazy,” he hummed, “crazy, as in?” He prodded on.

“Crazy as in we run away for a day.” You blurted, without really thinking. “I dare us to do it.”

He let out an amused chuckle. “Well, you know I’m one for crazy.” Jameson said, and you could hear the grin in his voice as you pulled yourself closer to him the tiniest bit more, adjusting your head on his chest. “And you know I’m not one to back down from a dare. But are you being one hundred percent serious?

His hand ran over your hair, sending tingles down your spine. “Yes, I am. I’m not fully insane; we aren’t really running away, I guess. It’s just like a little road trip if you think about it,” you said.

“A road trip with no destination and not telling anyone where we are off to.” He contemplated, “Sounds like a recipe for disaster. I like it.”

“And, where are we running off to?” He then said, continuing. “You know, if we do survive this horrible, tempestuousnight.”

You let out a little laugh at his dramatics. You felt so at peace in this moment, looking at the pitch black sky with stars dotting it alight, hearing the faint sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

Your gazed fixed on those special cluster of stars, and you could almost start to see what Jameson was saying earlier.

The bench, the two people. Our constellation, you thought giddily.

“I don’t know,” You admitted, “anywhere but here. Just for a few days. I’m kind of growing sick of it all.”

“Then we’ll go anywhere.” Jameson concluded. “Just for a few days.“ His hand slowed, then stopped in your hair, then it moved to the middle of your back, and his hand lay flat.

Your eyes were heavy, and you attempted to stifle a yawn but failed.

You wrapped your arms tighter around Jameson, and felt his hand grasp the fabric of your hoodie. You wondered how long it would take your parents to notice your absence. Then you thought about all the things you could do, places you could go with Jameson.

“I’ll make a plan tomorrow morning.” You mumbled in your half-awake state, because it didn’t hurt to just be a littleorganised, especially when your ‘runaway partner’ was someone who liked to live on the edge 24/7.

You could hear Jameson’s tiredness in his voice, along with that intoxicating smile. “I knew you’d say something like that.”

A little chuckle fell past your lips as you felt Jameson’s chin rest atop your head. You curled a little closer into his chest, finally letting your eyes shut.

You’d give up the sun, the moon, the stars, and everything in between if it meant everything could stay like this forever.

Well… Maybe not the stars. You wouldn’t want to give up your new favourite constellation.

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem @jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities

#jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x reader #jameson hawthorne headcanons #the inheritance games #the grandest game #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #tgg #games untold #tig #tig headcanons #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson hawthorne fluff #the hawthorne legacy #❦ jude writes

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swtt4hk · 2 days ago

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Sang-woo finds out that you’re pregnant {Fluff}(Oneshot)

requested by: @daeholuvs

it was a normal morning…not for you though. You have been feeling really sick lately and it has worried your husband , Cho Sang-woo , a lot. He has suggested you went to the doctor or even taking some days off work to take care of you which was unusual of him since he’s a workaholic. You really appreciated his care and love for you but you kept telling him that you’re okay and it’s gonna go away soon…

…but it hasn’t. You knew that something’s wrong but you couldn’t possibly tell Sang-woo because it was gonna worry him more and get distracted from work.

today you woke up feeling extremely exhausted, with a sharp pain in your stomach and you felt nauseous. That’s when you realised. You were late on your period too but you thought it was just a coincidence but now…it can’t all be just a coincidence.

—are you sure you’re gonna be fine? You look exhausted, honey.

Sang-woo says with a worried look

—don’t worry , sweetheart, I’m gonna be just fine , I’ll drink some tea and take some medicine and I’ll be as right as rain immediately!

You say with a reassuring smile as you’re caressing his cheek. Sang-woo sighs and gives in.

—if you say so…but call me if anything happens to you , please don’t hesitate, alright?

—okay baby I will…now go , you’ll be late!

You and Sang-woo share one last kiss before he leaves for work. As soon as he leaves , you decide to take action. You get ready and go to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test.

positive.

you look at it with tears in your eyes. You don’t know if they’re happy tears or tears of frustration. “How is Sang-woo going to react?” is the only thought in your head right now.

“call me if anything happens to you , don’t hesitate.”

you keep rethinking his words. You don’t know if you should call him or keep it a secret. Which would be the best choice to make?

you decided to keep it a secret , just for a while. Keeping your pregnancy a secret from your husband wouldn’t hurt…right?

Your morning sicknesses have been getting worse and it worries Sang-woo so much. He keeps trying to convince you for him to take some days off to take care of you or for him to help you with the chores but you’re playing tough and immediately turn them down. He can’t lie , he has noticed you gaining a little bit of weight recently but his mind doesn’t go to pregnancy and of course he doesn’t mention your weight gain because he knows that you’re insecure and that it would be rude of him to tell you something like that. (He’s such a gentleman hehhehehe😍🙏😜)

it has been about a month and a half since you found out that you’re pregnant. You still have your doubts about telling Sang-woo but you can’t keep lying to him that you’re okay. You finally take the courage to tell him after he comes home from work. You prepare his favourite meal , tidy the house and wait for him to return.

The clock strikes 6:00. It’s time. The door slowly open , revealing the familiar figure of Sang-woo.

—honey , I’m back!

He walks to the kitchen and see’s his favourite meal on the table and you , sitting there and , in his eyes , looking beautiful as ever.

—hey baby…how was work?

You give him a kiss and you both sit on the table.

—does it matter? Right now , I’m home , with my amazing wife who has once again made a delicious meal for me…I really don’t deserve you.

You blush but also feel guilt on the inside. How could you lie to such an innocent and kind human being?

—um Sang-woo I would like to talk to you about something—

he gets up as your talking and interrupts you by leaning over you and kissing you. As you’re both melting into each other’s lips he wraps his hands around your waist and they go down to your stomach but feels something weird…this is not the stomach he’s used to touching…it’s…round? He freezes. You realise where his hands have gone to and you freeze too. You pull out of the kiss and look at him with an anxious look.

—honey…

A tear rolls down his cheek.

—y/n…

You caress his cheek as your eyes tear up.

—I’m sorry…

—don’t apologise my love…it’s okay…but you should’ve told me sooner , do you know how worried I was?

—I know I know , I’m sorry…

Sang-woo wipes his tears and smiles. He places his hand on top of your belly and caresses it with his thumb.

—you’re gonna be a great mom…

You try to fight your tears back. You feel so happy but so sad that you didn’t tell him earlier. You blush at the compliment and a wide smile forms on your face.

—and you’re gonna be a great dad , Sang-woo…

—I love you , my wife and mother of our kids.

—I love you more , my husband and father of our kids.

———————————————————————

the end! I almost cried writing this but definitely enjoyed writing it! Special thanks to @daeholuvs for requesting this! More fics soon!

#cho sang woo #park haesoo #cho sangwoo #fanfic #squid game #cho sang woo x reader

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keepingitformyself · 2 days ago

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older (and wiser): iii

A/N: well here we are! the final chapter of “older (and wiser).” this will not be the end tho! i plan to write a prequel series going more into depth about wanda and readers past, how they came to be, how they fell apart and what not. i do want to to make one more thing clear before you continue reading; this story is meant to be as realistic as possible. meaning the ending may not be for everyone. i specifically wrote this with intent of giving these characters an emotional arc they deserved. so, without further ado, enjoy this final chapter!

synopsis: wanda comes over for dinner one last time.

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst

warnings: it’s gonna be sad lowk. get the tissues ready.

MASTERLIST series masterlist

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

wanda spends most of the night back at her hotel, staring out the large window that overlooks the city. neon signs flicker in the distance, their glow casting fragmented patterns across her room.

she leans her forehead against the cool glass, letting the city hum around her, lost in thoughts of you. she imagines what you could be doing right now. if paul’s arms were wrapped around you, if he makes you laugh the way she used to. a hollow ache settles in her chest as she lets herself sink into the deep loss of not having you anymore.

the next day, early morning, wanda’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. she reaches for it groggily, only to find a message from you at the top of her screen.

come by at 6:30? here’s the address: 150 west 26th street, new york, ny 10001. see you soon!

for a moment, wanda just stares at the screen, her thumb hovering over the message. she exhales slowly, closing her eyes as a wave of uncertainty washes over her. part of her wants to pack her bags right then and there, to book an early flight and leave you in this city behind.

she doesn’t know which is worse. never facing you again or having to sit across the dinner table from you and your husband-to-be.

she spends the rest of the day mentally preparing herself for how this evening could go, running through endless scenarios in her head.

what would one talk about when having dinner with their ex’s fiance? especially when said ex is someone you’re still seemingly in love with.

oh yeah, your fiance used to look at me the same way.

of course, i know what her favorite song is. ‘do i ever cross your mind?’ by dolly parton. i performed it for her on our eighth month anniversary.

yeah, i paid the tech guy in the theatre department extra to let me use the theatre after hours.

the thoughts make her cringe, but the bitterness is hard to suppress. she tries to bite back the small, unwarranted hatred she’s developed for paul. everything she’s learned about him—despite her best efforts not to—has been nothing but positive.

he’s generous, patient, successful, and clearly loves you. and wanda knows you wouldn’t be marrying someone who didn’t treat you like you deserved the whole world.

it’s all pathetic in its nature. she should have been over you long by now. but she doesn’t know how to explain to you— to explain to herself—that leaving you is still something she’s trying to process. that even when she didn’t appreciate you enough, you felt like everything to her. you still do.

and she doesn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

by the time the sun sets, wanda’s resolve is still fragile. she dressed carefully, standing in front of the mirror for far too long, fussing with her appearance. she wants to look composed, unbothered. as if seeing you happy with someone else doesn’t feel like dagger to the heart. one that you keep twisting without trying.

at 6:15, she steps outside her hotel and hails a cab, clutching a bottle of wine she bought earlier as a polite gesture. as the cab weaves through the bustling streets of new york, wanda wonders what kind of expression you’ll wear when you see her. will it be warm, nostalgic, indifferent? she braces herself for anything.

when the cab drops her off in front of a sleek residential building in tribeca, she lingers for a moment before buzzing in. the door unlocks with a soft click, leading her into a quiet corridor toward an elevator. she steps inside, pressing the button for your floor with a hand that feels unsteady.

the walls feel too close. the air feels too thick.

by the time she reaches your door, her nerves are frayed. she knocks twice, her heart hammering.

four seconds later, the door swings open, and there you are, beaming at her like no time has passed.

"hi! it’s so good to see you."

before wanda can say anything, you pull her into a hug, warm and familiar. she exhales sharply, caught off guard, but she lets herself sink into it, just for a moment.

when you pull away, she notices the man standing just a few feet behind you, a cat in his arms. he watches the interaction with a patient, kind smile before gently setting the cat down.

“sorry about that,” paul says, laughing as the cat immediately tries to sneak toward the door. "he bolts every chance he gets."

then, without hesitation, he steps forward and grasps wanda’s hands in his own. his grip is firm, his smile genuine.

“it’s really nice to meet you, wanda.”

for a second, wanda is stunned by the ease of his kindness. she had spent so much time building him up in her head as an obstacle, an enemy, but standing here now, faced with his warmth, she almost felt guilty for ever resenting him.

“thank you for having me,” she manages, recovering quickly. she glances around, taking in the space. "you have a lovely home."

then, as if suddenly remembering, she reaches into her bag.

“i brought some wine,” she says, handing it to you. “the expensive kind. i know my stuff.” she huffs out a small laugh, forcing some lightness into her voice.

paul chuckles, taking the bottle from your hands to examine it. “i like her already.”

and just like that, wanda knows this is going to hurt more than she thought.

dinner passes in a blur of polite conversation and well-meaning smiles. paul is gracious, effortlessly kind, and wanda hates how easy it is to like him. she hates that there’s nothing about him to hate at all.

she watches the way you lean into him when you laugh, how his hand absentmindedly finds yours on the table. it’s second nature, the kind of comfort that only comes with time, with certainty.

and wanda knows, without question, that she has none of those things with you anymore.

paul has made it a habit to ask about how you and wanda met. even though she’s sure he already knows most of the story, he’s always genuine in wanting to hear more, especially the parts you tend to leave out.

“you got any funny stories about this one?” paul asks, flashing wanda a pointed smile. “something embarrassing, please.”

wanda huffs out a quiet laugh, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. she has plenty. but as she glances between you and paul, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. some memories feel lighter than others. some carry more weight than she knows what to do with.

still, when she sees the way you’re watching her; curious, amused, trusting, she decides to tell it.

“oh, i’ve got one,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “back in college, we tried to break into the theatre department after hours. it wasn’t really breaking in, technically, the door was open, but we definitely weren’t supposed to be there. they had this whole wire rig set up for the upcoming peter pan production, and somebody—” she tilts her chin toward you “—thought it would be a great idea to try it out.”

paul turns to you, amused. “why am i not surprised?”

you groan, already bracing for the rest of the story. wanda smirks but continues, her voice softer now.

“so, there she was, strapped into this ridiculous harness, so sure she was about to soar across the stage like some theatrical prodigy. but the second she tried to lift off, the harness jammed, and instead of flying, she was just—”

“i was dangling there,” you chime in, groaning at the memory. “like some tragic shakespearean ghost.”

“and then, of course, security walks in,” she says, shaking her head. “and instead of, i don’t know, explaining, she panicked and yelled, ‘i have done the deed. didst thou not hear a noise?’”

paul bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “you did not.”

“she did,” wanda confirms, laughing softly. “the security guy just stood there for a second, like he was reconsidering every choice that led him to that moment, then sighed and said, ‘get down.’”

paul grins, shaking his head. “so, what happened next?”

“i had to help her out of the harness before we both got kicked out,” wanda says. “and then we ran. fast.” she pauses, her smile dimming just a little. “ended up at that all-night diner by campus instead. sat there for hours, drinking burnt coffee, still laughing about it.”

her voice drifts for a moment, lost in the memory. you swallow, feeling something heavy settle in your chest, but before the silence can stretch too long, you force out a small chuckle.

“i could’ve flown,” you say, shaking your head. “i just needed a little more time.”

wanda looks at you then, and there’s something in her gaze. something paul doesn’t quite catch, but you do.

“yeah,” she murmurs. “maybe you just needed more time.”

paul laughs again, unaware of the way wanda’s fingers tighten around her glass. “you two were absolute menaces, huh?”

and just like that, the moment passes. the air lightens again, and Wanda takes another sip of her wine. but the memory lingers between you, heavier than it should be.

“did she ever tell you that we watch some of your movies sometimes?” paul cuts in, his eyes bright with genuine curiosity. there’s an eager energy to him, the kind that makes it clear he isn’t just saying it to be polite—he actually wants to talk about her work.

wanda raises an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh?”

you offer a small, sheepish smile, and paul continues before you can respond.

“i mean, seriously,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “i’m already a pretty emotional guy, but your movies? they wreck me.”

wanda lets out a soft, amused laugh, her fingers absently tracing the stem of her wine glass. “that’s very kind of you to say.” she takes a slow sip before adding, almost offhandedly, “i guess i just have a thing for playing characters in distress.”

paul barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “yeah, well, you do it very well. it’s almost unfair.”

wanda smirks, but there’s something thoughtful in the way she tilts her head, as if considering his words. then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she leans in slightly and says, “i take it you’re a crier, then?”

paul places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “absolutely. no shame.”

that earns a more genuine laugh from wanda, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders eases. the air between the three of you feels a little lighter.

when the plates are empty and the conversation slows, paul pushes back his chair with a contented sigh.

“i’ll start on the dishes,” he says, already stacking plates. “you two should catch up.”

you smile at him, appreciative, and wanda feels something twist in her chest. she shouldn’t be here. she doesn’t belong here.

still, she doesn’t move.

you refill your wine glass and lean back in your chair, watching her carefully. wanda swirls what’s left in her own glass, staring at the deep red before speaking.

“maybe i should’ve tried to convince you to run off with me,” she jokes, her voice light, almost teasing.

but when she finally looks up, she sees the way your expression falters, just for a second. you know, both of you do, that it isn’t really a joke.

you let out a small breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “that wouldn’t have changed anything, wanda.”

“wouldn’t it?” she asks, a little too quickly.

your eyes search hers, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the past is sitting between you, untouched, waiting.

wanda wonders if there’s a universe where you had run off together. if there’s a version of you out there, tangled up in her arms instead of in someone else’s.

she swallows hard. “i wish i had tried a little harder.”

your face softens, but it’s not enough to undo the distance between you. “you couldn’t help it,” you say, voice gentle.

"i could have," she insists, her hands gripping the stem of her glass a little too tightly. there’s frustration in her voice, but beneath it, there’s something raw. regret, maybe.

you don’t argue. you won’t. because the truth is, she could have.

"yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper. "maybe."

silence settles between you. wanda watches as your gaze shifts toward the window, toward the street where people pass by, oblivious to the ache sitting between you both.

she doesn’t know what she was expecting. maybe some kind of reassurance that she still lingers in your mind the way you linger in hers. that if things had been different, if she had been different, this could have been her home, her life.

but you don’t give her that.

paul’s voice calls from the kitchen. “babe, where’s the dish soap?”

you blink, turning toward the sound, and the spell is broken.

wanda forces a smile, downing the last of her wine before standing. “i should get going.”

you don't question it.

you grab wanda’s coat from the rack and walk her to the door. she doesn’t ask you to, but neither of you are quite ready for the night to end without one last moment.

“leaving so soon?” paul asks suddenly, his voice light but tinged with something unreadable. both you and wanda turn to face him.

she nods apologetically, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “i have an early flight tomorrow,” she admits, offering a small, regretful smile.

“oh.” paul’s disappointment is subtle but there, it flickers in his eyes before he shapes his expression into something more polite. “well, it was really nice meeting you, wanda.”

you glance at him, catching the way he shifts slightly, rubbing his thumb over the inside of his palm. a small habit of his when he’s holding something back. you wonder, briefly, if tonight was difficult for him too, if he’s been carrying the weight of this evening the same way you have. you decide you’ll ask him about it later.

stepping forward, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his jaw relaxes at the familiar gesture. his hand finds yours easily, his fingers warm and steady against your own.

“i’m just gonna walk her out,” you murmur, giving his hand a small squeeze.

paul nods, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he offers wanda another polite smile. “safe travels,” he says, his voice kind, sincere.

as you lead wanda toward the door, you feel the weight of paul’s gaze lingering on you, as if he knows that this goodbye is heavier than it appears.

the air outside is crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. wanda stands beside you on the curb, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth of her coat. the streetlights cast long shadows, and for a second, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of something you’ll never get back.

her uber is a few minutes away. that’s all the time you have left.

she exhales softly, eyes fixed on the passing cars. then, as if she’s been holding it in all night, she finally asks, “do you think we could have worked things out? if we had been different people? under different circumstances?”

the question hits you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. because the truth is, you don’t know.

maybe in another life. maybe in a world where you didn’t leave the hotel before she could see you, where you both didn’t have to love each other from a distance, where you didn’t have to wonder if loving her meant waiting for something that wasn’t enough.

but this isn’t that world.

you swallow hard, staring down at the pavement. “i don’t know, wanda.”

she nods, as if she expected that answer, but the sadness in her eyes deepens anyway. “me neither.”

the uber pulls up, headlights cutting through the night, and you both turn toward it. this is it. the real goodbye.

wanda hesitates, then reaches for you, pulling you into one last embrace. you don’t know who’s holding onto who tighter. when she pulls away, her hand lingers on your arm for a second too long before she finally steps back.

“take care of yourself,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

you give her a tight-lipped smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you too, wanda.”

she slides into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, you stand frozen on the sidewalk, watching until the taillights disappear around the corner.

and then it hits you.

the weight of it all crashes down at once. the grief, the finality, the understanding that there are some lives you’ll never get to live, some love stories that will never get their second chance.

you press a hand to your mouth as your chest tightens, eyes stinging, but you force yourself to turn back toward the building before you fall apart completely.

when you step into the lobby, you’re not surprised to see paul waiting by the elevator. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t have to.

the moment you reach him, you break.

a choked sob escapes you as you fall into his arms, and he holds you without hesitation, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other wrapped firmly around your back.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple. and you believe him.

because this was never about leaving him.

you love paul. you’ve never questioned that.

but love doesn’t erase the what-ifs. it doesn’t quiet the ache of knowing there’s a version of you out there who loved wanda differently, who had a life that was beautiful in its own way. one that you’ll never get to live.

paul presses a kiss to your hair and just holds you, letting you mourn what could have been.

and when you’re finally ready, he walks you up.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagines

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deadfrog-and-friends · 2 days ago

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a work in progress

It feels. That's all it can do right now. Feel. Sensations it can't interpret, can't understand. All over its new form, feeling, stimuli. Something. Holding it. Something rubbing it. Something cutting into it—ahhh…it doesn't hurt, not exactly. It's just, what if the knife slips? Cuts deep? Too deep? It cuts, it cuts, shallow cuts, deep cuts… it's frightening. So many cuts before the blade is pulled away. It's. Fine. It's safe. A soft sensation, a digit, a finger, rubs over its entire form. Smooth. Gentle. Wonderful. Suddenly it's set down, and all there is to feel is the surface beneath it.

It lays in Stillness, there, the entity, for it is not yet a doll. It is just a block of wood, well, four or five blocks of wood, that have yet to become arms and legs and a head and ball joints. The surface vibrates as things move around it. People, Animals, various Things. Voices rendered into vibrations it can only feel. A door slamming in its frame, more vibrations. It starts to notice cold and hot as well. A window left open feels colder. A cat dozing nearby feels warmer. The warmth of the hand that finally picks it up again, is warmer still, and it brings it to the stove to work on it in the firelight, which is warmest yet. An ear is carved, and it can hear.

Voices. Voices it hears first, and the crackling of the fire. The one holding it has the sweetest. Another one, nearby, has its own music. The voice of the fire is anxious, a bit, its proximity seems to be causing a thumping, thumping, in that one's chest. Low to the ground, one last plaintive voice. The cat. The one holdng it carves a second ear.

"Won't you start on that commission. Please, dear." That was the further voice.

"I will, tomorrow," says the one holding it. "I just want to finish carving poor dolly's head."

"Can't it wait?"

"It's been waiting for a month already." The one holding it brushes sawdust out of its ear and it can hear more clearly. "It's just been sitting on my desk, sometimes I even forget it's there I'm so busy. I'm shocked the cat hasn't batted away and lost half the pieces."

"I just don't know what use a doll of that size can be," says the first voice. "And with rent coming up tomorrow…hmm?" She's interrupted by a clanking noise. "Yes Duckie?"

"Mistress, supper is served," says a new, eerily flat voice.

"Well, never mind. Put that down, come eat."

"I'll be right there," says the one holding it, as the other one leaves. She adds a tiny detail to the left ear, and then the right. Satisfied, she carries that one back to the desk—one, two, three, four gentle footsteps—saying "Its use? Its purpose? Only to be loved, only to be loved, and to love me in return." A finger runs along that one's new head, over its new ears, and she hums, gentle and satisfied.

The entity that is not yet a doll finds it can mark the days now. Voices say things like "Good morning," "time for dinner," "it's late, come to bed." Gathers that the one who holds it is a witch named Felicity, beloved Felicity. The other is her partner Leticia. They run a shop together, New and Used Dolls, Drones, and Puppets—Felicity carves them new out of wood; Leticia scouts out used ones to refurbish and sell. Two dolls live with them, a wood doll of Felicity's, Fifi, who scrapes a broom across the floor a few times a day, and Duckie, a refurbed bot, who calls them for dinner. Finally, there is the cat, with the plaintive voice, and the sweet, gentle purr. The entity can feel it jump on the desk and settle next to it and start purring. This means they are friends.

Days pass and sometimes it feels its witch's hand on its form, sometimes she picks it up, fiddles with it, attaches a limb. One afternoon when the shop is dead she steals a whole hour and manages to affix its head onto its neck. She swivels it back and forth and all the way around, pleased with the smooth movement. Then Leticia comes in. Her voice almost sounds hurt. "Weren't you going to help me with that refurb? I thought—"

"Ohh…" Felicity sets her project back down, almost ungently. "Sorry, I thought… Sorry." She leaps up. "Yeah we can do that now."

The entity that is not yet a doll feels so close. Its head is attached. Its limbs are attached. From the conversation it has heard in the shop, it believes it still lacks things called eyes, a mouth, clothing, hair. If it is to be a marionette, it will need strings. Felicity will get to it, someday. It knows she will. It can't wait for the next moment she has time to pick it up, run her hand along its back. It thinks about that every few moments.

Seasons change. Hair is installed, in phases. A painful process where holes are drilled into the top of its head. "I don't remember what my original vision was, anymore," Felicity mutters. Her voice has changed, somehow. The texture of her fingers. A new person lives in the house with them. A child. The child's voice is beautiful.

"What's that, Mommy?" the entity, still not a doll, can hear it ask.

"Oh, it's a work in progress," says beloved Felicity. "Your mama gave me that beautiful wood, just enough for a small doll."

"A little dolly like that would be just the right size for, you know, a little girl."

"Are you trying to hint something, darling?" the witch says, laughing. "Maybe I teach you to make your own, hmm?"

The entity hears the child shriek with joy as the witch scoops it up and carries it away. It feels an ache, a knot in its chest.

Months pass. Sometimes the child picks it up, unfinished as it is, and carries it around the room. Puts it on the cat and laughs as the cat gets up and it falls to the ground. Pours it tea—which smells divine. (It received a nose at some point.) Reads to it from its picture books. Helpfully describes the pictures to it since it doesn't have eyes. Felicity walks in on this one day. "No!" she cries, snatching the not doll away. "No, no, no, Alice, you mustn't touch that… it's Mommy's. It's mine." She presses it to her bosom, her hands shaking. That one feels so warm, shivery almost. It feels a sob in Felicity's chest.

"Sorry, Mommy," Alice says, ashamed. "I thought…"

"You have your own dolls, don't you? Beautiful dolls, so many beautiful dolls. This is all Mommy has. Don't you understand? I'm sorry for getting upset. It's just, this is Mommy's special doll."

"B-b-but…" Alice starts to wail. Mommy puts the doll down, hastily, on the desk, and goes to comfort her.

"Look, darling," Mommy says.

"You haven't touched it in months," the child wails, "so I thought I could play with it. It's probably lonely. Don't you think it's lonely?"

The Doll hardly notices as Alice lashes out at Felicity and Felicity weeps. It hardly cares that it's alone on the desk again, still without eyes, a mouth, a single stitch of clothing, the ability to move. For what is a doll? For some it is an entity that will carry out orders, cook or clean, fight for one's cause. But for this one, it is to be loved, to be loved, and to love in return. It is a Doll.

For the next several years, Felicity only manages to paint a single eye (muttering "doesn't look quite right, does it") but that is enough for the Doll to finally see the faces of its family, Alice, the distant Leticia, Ducky, and Fifi. And the wonderful Felicity so beautiful but oh! so frail, so delicate compared to the others. She hardly works with any wood anymore. Something to do with her health. She spends more and more time upstairs, where the Doll has never been. Alice is learning the trade. She prefers making dolls with cloth. She prefers working with the refurbs. She sews that one some clothes in her spare time, along with an even smaller doll to keep it company. The cat, an old lady by now, steals it, though. Then one day, Felicity is carried downstairs and out the door. The Doll never sees her or hears her voice again. Months later, Leticia comes to clean off the desk and throw things away. She comes across the Doll, and touching it for the first time begins to weep.

End.

(inspired by @absentwriterdoll's Work-In-Progress and glitch's Resin)

#dollposting #empty spaces

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tragedy-of-commons · 2 days ago

Note

an apology for the last one. and also one from the correct fandom this time: robin + PURPLE LILAC + catharsis + redamancy, please? thank you :D

PURPLE LILAC: they’re falling first, and falling hard.

catharsis — emotional release.

redamancy — the act of loving in return.

childhood friends, pre-canon (both reader and robin are kids here), fluff and pining, mentioned sunday ^^

“Miss Robin, I just wish I had your hair!”

Your gushing is accompanied by skillful, dexterous movements of your fingers. The gentle appendages glide through her tresses, looping and arranging each strand to your liking. It’s a familiar scene, the one she shares with you now; baubles lined against the vanity’s edge, a collection of perfume bottles, barrettes, and other wondrous beauty paraphernalia present.

You go about weaving a crown plait, the very same hairstyle you’d pointed out earlier in Penacony’s Lovely Lady magazine with a stubby finger, proclaiming that she simply must allow you to style hers in the same manner. Robin had immediately agreed, trying in vain to shield the flush of her cheeks with her headwings.

For the little time you’ve known one another, you sure do know how to endear yourself - with excited smiles and promises of boundless friendship.

“It’s not that special,” she dismisses easily, staring at her reflection. The lightbulbs affixed to the frame of the mirror really make her feel like the rising star she dreams of becoming, even if she’s just in her bedroom with you. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Miss Robin’ if you don’t want to. There’s no need for formalities, promise.”

You sigh, shrugging. “Oops, sorry. I guess I’m just not used to being so informal. I think my mom would kill me if she heard that I didn’t address you properly! The Oak Family was kind enough to give her a job, so it just feels like the right thing to call you.”

Robin wishes that you didn’t feel like that - like there’s a whole world separating you from her. She’s never known a bond this close save for her brother, whom she is grateful for, by the way - but the dynamic she has with you is different. The Halovian siblings have always been sheltered and warned of external influences, but the day you bounded in by your mother’s side, introduced as part of the staff, you were (hesitantly) deemed fit for Robin to associate with.

The signature mellow jukebox churning out a tune brings her back to the conversation at hand. “I understand, but I hope you know you’re not obligated—”

“There you go again, talking like a grown-up,” you laugh.

“Sorry! I don’t mean to.”

“No, no. I like the way you talk; it’s pretty like the rest of you! And besides, you’re gonna need to sound all mature when you give interviews all over the cosmos.”

It’s pretty like the rest of her.

Robin focuses on you, now. You’re still hard at work, making sure her hair is evenly distributed to make the perfect wreath. It accentuates her halo which floats inches above her head, making your aesthetic choice all the more thoughtful. Your eyes, slightly narrowed in concentration, don’t notice the unadulterated look of admiration she’s sending you.

“Interviews…” she swallows. “You really think I’ll get that far? I haven’t even sung in front of anyone besides you and Sunday.”

Taking a moment to close her eyes, images of you and her brother pop up in her mind; the pair of you sitting cross-legged on the floor while she tremulously stutters along to handwritten lyrics. Sunday shooting to his feet first after she’d hummed the final note, you following suit to join him in a standing ovation.

Robin likes to think she’s improved a little bit since then, and she knows that even with the Harmony’s blessing, her voice wasn’t exactly… proficient, all those months back. But she felt on top of the world, like the luckiest girl in the universe - because you were there.

Her brother may fight you for the position of her #1 fan, but you, the one who’d gone out of their way to befriend her despite the obstacles?

Yeah, she’ll always see you as the cool one.

“Of course you will!” you scoff, like her potential success is some undisputed fact of nature. “And if you ever get nervous, talking to reporters or paparazzi or whoever,” The updo seems to be to your satisfaction, so you grin and reach for a bottle of hairspray, “I’ll be there to help! I can be your cheerleader.”

Her heart lurches. Sure, she’s imagined you in her daydreams. Sometimes you’re a backup singer, sometimes you’re on the keys, and other times, you’re in the first row of the audience, with that same lovely smile on your face. To hear that you want the same thing, even in jest, is enough to hammer hope into the future beyond - the one she’s previously sidelined for Family obligations.

Robin’s eyes fly back open, startled out of her stupor as you assault the finished crown plait with the setting agent. She coughs in surprise after inhaling the cloying smell, causing you to laugh.

“What, don’t want me there?” you tease, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I get it—”

She interrupts, determined and teary-eyed, “No! I’d love that. You… that’d be really cool. We’d travel together and lift people’s spirits, bringing so much joy to those that need it.”

You want to be there, in this hypothetical future. With her.

“Okay. Let’s call it a promise,” you recover from your chuckling and then gesture to her hair with a gentle flourish. “Whaddya think? You look amazing!”

A promise she’ll do anything to keep, she decides.

You hold up a gilded hand mirror so she can get a good look at the back, but she’s still entirely focused on the miracle that is you. The Halovian tilts her head this way and that way to cover this up, but it’s fruitless. She cannot help but be taken with her best friend and the inspiration of her latest piece (work in progress).

“I love it. Truly.”

event post here. network members only!

#hvntersloveletters #—stellaronhvnters.#my writing #robin x reader #hsr x reader #robin hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr robin x reader #robin x y/n #robin x you #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #robin x gn!reader

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benz12313 · 2 days ago

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Surface Tension Ch.2 - Ridoc x OC!Doll

|Images are not mine|

Description: Despite wanting to be anywhere but the rider's quadrant, Daisy Jenkins loves her family, and so begrudgingly, she volunteers herself to go and throw herself to the mercy of dragons. She struggles with her confidence, but will a certain man with a penchant for mischief and a flirtatious attitude show her that she doesn't have to hide? That she too has a voice that can and should be heard? Will she be bold enough to claim him as her own? Or will she let him slip through her fingers, forever just out of reach? {Slow Burn/Mated Dragons/Friends to Lovers}

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 2,030

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Two - Forming Bonds

I watched each candidate after me become a cadet, with my back to the pillar behind me. I scanned the crowd, silent, watching, and silently begging that this would all be over soon. The adrenaline crash after all the excitement on the parapet was leaving me tired, and it wasn’t even over yet. We still have to be assigned squads, eat dinner, and settle into the barracks; where mom said we’d be separated by sex, and then be stuffed in the a room of bunks in rows.

Don’t run.

It was the only thing they would say about forming squads, but based on my mother’s dark chuckle when she’d said it… Yeah, there was no doubt in my mind that it wasn’t as simple as they’d advised.

Don’t run.

I scanned over the crowd. An hour had passed, the Basgiath bells marking the hour just a few minutes ago. I wish I could just slip into bed now. The armor my father had forged using his metal wielding signet wasn’t foreign to me. I’d been training with the newly formed corset for months now, but it was wearing on me. I couldn’t wait to sit, the thing got fucking heavy after a while. Taking it off would be impossible other than when showering until after threshing, when we were assigned our own dorms and safety while sleeping was nearly guaranteed.

Just because it’s against the codex to attack a rider while they sleep, doesn’t mean that some don’t have the balls to do it anyway.

It wasn’t much longer until the three upperclassmen that had been on the other side of the parapet crossed, and I knew we were done. Every cadet standing in the courtyard now, were the ones who had made it. Who got to live through their first day. I couldn’t help but notice the significant size difference from when we’d waited below, before we ever even stepped foot on a single stair. How many of us have died?

The girl from the parapet pushed through my mind, and I flinched. I’d done good ignoring those thoughts since we’d made it to the courtyard, since Ridoc Gamlyn had disappeared into the crowd. I let my lip tremble for a second before shoving it into the darkest corners of my mind, and shutting the door. No time for softness now. Not here. Not when I wasn’t the only one off to the side, scanning the crowd, watching for strength and weakness. The red-haired monster from before was across the courtyard, towering over most of the rest of us first-years, and scanning the crowd, just as I was.

His mere existence seemed to shove me closer to that dangerous zone of fight or flight with every second. Everything about him set me on edge, something rubbing me wrong with his silence, that menacing aura he exuded. In my experience, which was admittedly narrow based on the fact that I come from a small mountain village of barely 100 people; bullies are usually loud, boisterous, and trying to be the biggest person in the room. This man was quiet, calculating, and…well he’s still the biggest person in the room. His entire demeanor set me on edge, and I knew with certainty; I wouldn’t be ignoring him anytime soon. In fact, I was certain he would star in a few of my nightmares after his display on the parapet.

The Commandant stepped forward and I sighed, stepping forward and facing the dais just like every other cadet in the courtyard. Even the second and third years were at attention. He congratulated the 301 of us that survived, but my heart lurched when he said that 67 of us did not make it. 67 people died today. I knew the crowd had looked smaller, but so many of us just…gone. Swallowed by the rain, poor balance, and…other cadets. My eyes burned and I cursed myself for my weakness. My weak heart would be the death of me here if I didn’t learn how to keep it in check.

He went on, talking about our future, being intimidating as hell, and subtly warning us of the dangers. Introducing the teachers, and then finishing with a threat to not make us his problem. Great.

Nyra, who was apparently senior wingleader of the quadrant, started talking, and sorting us into squads. I was sorted into 2nd Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing, along with two other girls who looked thick as thieves already. One with ombre hair, the ends silver and was my height, no more than an inch of difference. Sorrengail. She’d made a spectacle of herself apparently. Enough so that when I’d made it across, people were still talking about her confrontation with another cadet. The girl next to her was a bit taller than me and Sorrengail, with deep brown skin, and several rows of braids all pinned back. They whispered in front of me, Sorrengail muttering facts to the other girl, and I intently listened. Any info is good info.

Then Ridoc was called to our squad, and he slipped into line on my right. He gave me a side-eyed look, massive grin on his face, and then he fucking winked, making me fight the blush rising, again. Damn idiotic handsome face of his.

“Wow, must be fate Doll.” He teased, and I rolled my eyes, staying quiet as they finished making squads. “C’mon you know you missed me.” I breathed an irritated sigh before I noticed Sorrengail stiffen. Eyes scanning the dais I noticed the wingleaders arguing over something. But then we were moved to Fourth Wing and if the terrifying yet somehow sexual smirk our new wingleader was sending directly at Sorrengail in front of me was anything to go by, it was definitely to do with her. Well shit.

“They need a room.” I muttered quiet enough that only Ridoc could hear and he damn near choked himself trying to suppress a chuckle. I turned red. Why the hell did I say that?? Maybe Ridoc was rubbing off on me. Either way I’m fucking mortified I said that out loud.

The wingleader started a surprisingly charismatic speech, that was obviously a setup to something else. Don’t run. The sentence coursed threw me as I heard the familiar sound of wing beats.

I didn’t see my parents dragons often, but when you live in a generally quiet place the sound is easily recognizable.

Eight fucking dragons land on the wall, chunks of stone falling. “Don’t run.” I mutter, fear coursing through me for just a moment before I locked my body down. I got as stiff as I could so my body wouldn’t betray me and move on its own. I notice Ridoc twitch next to me and a new fear courses through me. My hand flies before I can stop it, gripping his wrist tightly and his eyes fly to mine. “Don’t run, my parents said don’t run.” I whisper and he nods as my fingers tighten, pressing harder into his skin. I look forward again. “Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.” I mutter like a fucking mantra that will somehow keep me alive.

Three run. Three piles of ash remain.

The smell of sulfur stings my nose. My heart hammers in my chest, but I don’t flinch. I stand. I stare at no dragon in particular, sure not to meet one’s gaze. They were beautiful though, every single one of them. I had always loved dragons, even if the riders weren’t my ideal choice in quadrants. They were powerful, majestic, and so..fucking..huge. Being able to mount one was definitely going to be a challenge. Not impossible though.

I barely heard our wingleader as he continued to speak. All I could do was watch the dragons; their serpentine movements, their silent authority. Fear was still there, gripping me as tightly as I was gripping Ridoc, who had finally been shut up. Even he had the sense to stay quiet in the presence of the dragons.

Only when the dragons disappeared, and our squad leaders (ours being Dain Aetos, a stern guy who seemed very…strict, but somehow more than strict) started leading us to the cafeteria did I let go of Ridoc. I was a bit too shaken, and frankly much too tired to be embarrassed I’d held him that long. He didn’t say anything, just shooting me a playful grin, much to my surprise. Maybe he was just as shaken as I was. I don’t think he’d ever admit that though.

Throughout dinner I was silent, listening to the others introduce themselves, none of them really going into extreme detail. Guess it’s not surprising that none of us trust each other yet.

“And you.” Aetos turns to me, and I gulp.

“Ugh, Daisy Jenkins.” I say simply and Sorrengail, Violet, perks up from my right. You can see the equations in her eyes as she thinks on my name.

“As in Mikael Jenkins, famous metal wielding rider?” She asked and the others eyes widened and I nodded, cheeks surely going pink.

“He helps forge a lot of Navarre’s weapons, and ugh, armor too. But weapons are easier for him to mass produce.” That’s why we lived in the mountains to begin with. Plenty of metal to forge. Also why he had been allowed an early retirement.

“Badass Doll.” Ridoc says, sending me a wink from where he sat across the table from me, boredly pushing back on his chair. He only grinned wider when I looked away.

Aetos moved on, until he gave us directions to head to our rooms. Warning us to make sure and get plenty of rest, wakeup is at 6, which frankly is just cruel. Mornings have never been my forte.

I was nearly there, just behind Rhiannon and Violet, when Ridoc grabbed my arm and pulled me to a side hallway. After inspecting if we were alone or not, and coming to the conclusion that we were, he turned his attention to me, making me nervously grab the straps of my small pack.

His eyes were playful, but heated, and focused directly on me, making me entirely too self conscious. This was different than the looks before, more intense and focused. Like every ounce of his attention was focused entirely on me. There was no fighting it now, from my neck up felt like it was on fire. His eyes narrowed and he grinned wide, voice dropping low.

“Hey Doll,” He wasn’t even touching me now, hands moving to sit casually in his pockets, but he might as well have been caging me in place the way my body felt like it was frozen.

“Hey Ridoc,” I squeaked out, and his smile softened a bit. Still ever playful though.

“Was wondering…well figured I’d ask you if wanted to find a empty room and celebrate still being alive with me.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at me and I gulped.

“Ugh-“ I started, and something flashed in his eyes, gone faster than I could identify what it was.

“Don’t feel bad if it’s a no though, not too late for me to find someone else.” He added and my stomach sank. Why did that not feel right? There was no way I actually wanted to sleep with someone I just met, right?

“Um, we probably shouldn’t. Being squad mates and all?” It sounded more like a question than anything else, but he nodded, still grinning. Just…it felt colder now, despite his face not having changed at all.

“Right, no worries Doll. Go on, I’ll see ya in the morning yeah?” I backed away, feeling a bit sick to my stomach, though I couldn’t rightly place why. That’s what I wanted right? To curl up in bed and let myself relax for the first time all day. Why did his eyes look like they'd lost their life? And why did that bother me more than anything else?

“Yeah.” It was practically a whisper. “See you in the morning.” He nodded and I turned, leaving him in the abandoned hallway. Why do I feel like that was a mistake?

Author's Note: Thank you to all that have showed the first chapter some love! It's definitely been fun getting back into posting. Just wanted to say that I've started two taglists; one for this story and one for all my Ridoc fics from here on out, including this story. If you'd like to be added to either just let me know which one! Thank you again for reading! :)

@xadenswhore @jinx108

#ridoc x oc #ridoc gamlyn #fourth wing #ridoc fourth wing #ridoc x reader #ridoc x OC!Doll #daisy jenkins #ridoc and doll #onyx storm #iron flame

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ilysungho · 2 days ago

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uh oh! good boy sungho was caught touching himself in ur room :( how will he be punished ?!?

-🌷

tulip your mind works in such wonderful ways i could kiss it honestly, so lucky to have you as my anon... i've been thinking about this non stop since i got the ask THIS IS AN AMAZING INGREDIENT TO COOK A DISH OUT OF

he'd be so shy !!! seeing your surprised face as you come into your own room. sungho feels like you should get out but he's the one intruding your space in the first place. he thought you'd be out for a while, needing a bit more than just pictures he has saved of you. well, what better time to use his roommate privileges right? it isn't the first time he's come into your room to touch himself while you're out, and it wasn't going to be the last (that was until you caught him red handed). he could never get enough of your scent, the sweet smell of your skin lingering on his clothes whenever you sat next to him as he played fifa in the living room. the very same scent he moaned for when he comes to your room whenever he needs the extra simulation. he knows it's a risky move, but he also knows your schedule, and you let him know if you're going to be out.

well, he's just so shy. his hands would stop midway as he's frozen on your bed, his back against the headboard as he sits seductively with a surprised face. it wouldn't be until you ask him what he's doing that he realizes, immediately getting up to go to his room right away, mumbling quick apologies. you reach your hand out to grab his wrist, pulling him back in with a quiet face. his blush only goes darker as the two of you exchange piercing contact in a couple ways, all before you peck him quickly. sungho would be rattled at this, wondering why you're doing this to him right now. he might be a bit perverted but he fell in love with you over the months of living together, getting to know you so well that he himself doesn't know how he got to this point. and well, he pulls you back in to kiss your lips longingly, hungry with desire yet tender with intentions. one thing leads to another and you both spend the rest of the day in your room, neither wanting to let go of the other.

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vampiricstoryteller · 2 days ago

Text

Safety Net

Im back yall, here’s a new Richette smut I’ve been working on. It took me a little bit to find a groove with this but I do like how it’s turned out. This a modern AU one. I love modern Annette and Richter. I hope yall enjoy! Thank you for reading!

Summary: Annette takes care of Richter after a grueling month of working with Juste

Read on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: Explicit smut, AU, Modern AU, cursing, Juste is super OC but it’s for the greater plot

If there was one thing Richter hated, more than anything, it was the month long business trip his grandfather, Juste Belmont, went on every other year. Nothing came remotely close to being as awful as the time he had to spend with his mothers father. Not that time he broke his leg when he was eight and had to stay in bed for weeks. Not when, at fifteen, he’d had that severe allergic reaction to kiwis and ended up in the ER. And not at twenty two when his father died and he’d been handed the keys to a multi-million dollar company. None of those even held a candle to the dread that locked into his chest when he would get the notification on his phone from the European side of the business.

Because it meant that Juste came to the states to check in on business “across the pond”, he came to stay with Richter’s mum; make snarky comments about the food she cooked and use up all the laundry detergent while never replacing it. He came to terrorized the employees that idolized him and unfairly challenge the ones that didn’t. He came to make Richter’s life hell, especially during the work week where he would follow Richter around and question every decision the youngest Belmont made.

Didn’t matter what it was, when Richter made a decision his grandfather had comments about it. If Richter picked sushi for lunch, Juste questioned why not something a little less raw. If Richter chose paint color number 4834, Juste needed to know why he hadn’t gone with 4835 instead. When they sat down to discuss models designs and reference points that should be paid attention to, his grandfather could and usually would rebuke them all.

Every. Single. One.

It was fucking infuriating.

Richter’s been in charge of the company for three years now. Their stock has risen, they’re on track to have the highest grossing year ever in their history and he’s already been honored by the national board. He’s the youngest CEO in the entire Belmont line, and his grandfather couldn’t give two shits about any of it.

He just wants to give Richter migraines for an entire month.

If he could get away with it, Richter would strangle him. But his mother would never forgive him and jail would completely ruin the fashion sense he’s been so meticulously building. Not to mention, if he ends up in jail his girlfriend will break up with him. And there’s nothing in the world Richter fears more than losing her.

He’d been dating Annette for just over a year. Fourteen months to be exact. And they’d been some of the happiest months of Richter’s life.

Annette meant everything to him.

She cared about Richter on a level so deep that he often felt like he was having the perfect fever dream. Annette believed in him, she encouraged him to be different than the men who came before him, she challenged his inner integrity and she kissed him like there had never been any other man on her mind ever. He’s certainly not thought about any other woman since the day they met, she clears them all by a mile at least.

Richter loved Annette, she was it for him. He already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Which is why two weeks before his grandfather is set to arrive, he sits Annette down and tries to explain that his grandfather is the destroyer of joy and if he sees that Richter is happy he will try to ruin it.

She’d laughed, hugging him comfortingly and said. “It’s only a month, Richter. We’ll make it through it.”

Then she crawled into his lap, kissing him as she promised even further, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Richter knows that.

And he knew she was right, they would make it through the month long visit from Juste; but would his sanity be the same when the old man finally boarded that 7pm flight six weeks from now?

He wasn’t so sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once his grandfathers plane lands, the days immediately begin blending together. There is nothing that the old man won’t complain about. This time he even has one locked and loaded when he greets Richter at the car pick up line.

“You couldn’t have had one of those golf carts waiting to bring to you?” Juste grumbles, his long hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“The walk is good for you after sitting on a plane for so long.” Richter replies evenly, picking up the older man’s suitcases and loading them into the trunk.

“Suddenly care about my health do you?” Juste asks, looking him over a few times as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

“No but mum does and me picking you up was her idea so,” Richter shrugs, closing the trunk and walking around to the driver side. “Come on, I’m trying to beat traffic.”

His grandfather doesn’t reply but he does get into the car, even going as far as rolling down the window.

“There’s something different about you, this time Richter.” The older man comments as the car pulls away from the curb. “You’ve got a pep in your step.”

He grunts in reply, refusing to give his grandfather any kind of information to take and run with. As they merge into traffic, Richter sends up a slightly prayer to the spirit world for his ancestors to give him strength to deal with their own bloodline.

By the second week of his grandfather’s visit, their conversation that morning he arrived seems like it happened years ago. To think that it’s only been fourteen days since then makes Richter want to vomit. There’s been a never ending stream of steady stress since the old man lit that cigarette and told Richter that he seemed different.

Juste had been relentless in his pursuit of what exactly had changed Richter since last they saw each other. He keeps Richter at the office longer and longer every day, wanting to go over things six or seven times even though they come out perfect the first three. He demands Richter meet him earlier and earlier, calling him until he answers and drags himself out of bed; away from Annette. Which was crushing Richter’s soul little bit by little bit each time.

It eventually gets to the point where Richter isn’t even sure what day it is anymore. He remembers sometimes when people greet him in the mornings, but the more time he spends with Juste the more people around them avoid them. Even in the building cafeteria, if Richter and Juste enter it, by the time they’ve gotten their plates, everyone else is gone.

Isolation is one Juste’s favorite ways to pick people apart, Richter’s known this since he was a child but this time around; the loneliness eats away at his heart. Being away from Annette for days at a time and then only seeing her when she’s curled around his pillow asleep makes Richter feel invisible.

They text, which isnt the same but it’s something and Richter desperately clings to any kind of normalcy he can find. Annette constantly sends little “I love you, be strong” messages throughout the day and each one wraps around Richter’s heart in a short of protective shield. She sends lunch to his office almost daily, orders his favorite snacks and tucks them into his suit jacket pockets days in advance so they can be a tiny surprise to brighten his day; and often leaves dinner waiting for him in a microwaveable container for when he gets home at those god awful times past midnight. He would be lost without her and Richter has never been more aware of it than he is now. She is a saint, she is heaven sent and when Richter can have a thought that doesn’t trace back to his damn grandfather again, he is going to dedicate a lot of his time to giving her the world.

Annette’s genuine love and care for him is the only thing keeping Richter from jumping off the roof and flipping Juste the bird on the way down. He cares too much about her to leave her, especially not when she’s sticking by him through his.

Richter just has to grit his teeth and bare it, for two more weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the day finally— finally —comes, it starts raining in the morning and doesn’t stop. Effectively delaying Juste’s flight hours into the night. What originally was a 3pm flight shifts to a 6pm one, then 8pm, and finally 10pm. They’ve just finished eating a late dinner when Juste’s phone gets another notification and Richter fears he’s going rip his own hair out from frustration based insanity if his grandfather tells him the flights been canceled.

But thankfully Juste looks up and instead tells him his flight will be boarding soon so it’s time to leave. Richter throws away his half eaten burger that he hadn’t really wanted anyway and tries to stay level with the speed limit as he all but races towards the airport.

His chest is tight the entire way, the uncomfortable prickle of tears in the back of his throat makes Richter want to scream. Even as an adult, running a million dollar company, he still crumbled under the pressure of his family name. Logically, he knows the expectations are bullshit and that if he would ignore them the way his mother and Tera managed to so eloquently do he would be much happier. But his mother and Tera had to go all the way across the ocean to “ignore” the expectations that Juste and his father before him rained down on them. Richter would be damned to hell before he let an old man chase him away from the life he had here in the name of “tough love”. He wouldn’t allow it.

As he turns into the drop off land of the airport and shuffles into the long car line, Richter bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds to stop the tears. He won’t give Juste the satisfaction. He refuses.

“You do good work here, Richter.”

His grandfather’s words bring all ten thousand of his thoughts to a screeching halt and Richter nearly slams on the breaks.

“What?” He snaps his gaze over to the man in his passenger seat.

“Your building runs like a well oiled machine, much better than two years ago when I was here.” Juste says casually. “This girl you’re hiding from me—.”

“I’m protecting my—.”

“This girl you’re hiding from me is very good for you, I hope she’s here to stay.” Juste says firmly.

When the next spot opens, Richter pulls in and throws on the hazard lights, unbuckling his seat belt.

“You don’t need to meet her.” He states trying to keep the threat out of his tone.

Juste chuckles, taking his time to gather his carryon, phone and wrapped lunch Richter’s mother made him. “You’re right. I don’t. Keep up the good work Richter, see you in two years.”

His grandfather is out of his truck and around at the trunk to get his suitcases before Richter can think of anything to say. The migraine behind his eyes is almost unbearable now and he can’t even begin to try to have coherent thoughts beyond getting home. Once his grandfather disappears inside the busy airport, Richter pulls away from the curb and doesn’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He unlocks the apartment door with a shaky hand at 2:27am. He’d nearly fallen over in the elevator and he was pretty sure the next time he could think he would embarrassed by how badly he parked his truck down in the building garage. But that was a problem for later, Richter didn’t give one flying shit about anything other than taking off his clothes and crawling into bed with—

He pushes open the door expecting to be greeted by darkness. Instead, the soft hum of the tv and the gentle glow of the color background lights are waiting him. Annette is sitting on the couch, in a pair of blue panties and a black tank top with her legs crossed and her Switch in her lap. The soft hyper sounds of Mario Kart jingle in Richter’s inner ear but his brain can’t make heads or tails of the sight before him. Annette is awake, for the first time in a month Richter is finally able to bring himself back to her. He has made it out of the iron claw grip labeled family, he can breathe again and just be with her.

She looks up, her beautiful brown doe eyes lighting up the second she sees him.

“Richter!”

She unfolds her legs, placing her game on the couch and practically leaps towards him. He catches her, he always will no matter how tired or mentally exhausted he is; and the warmth of Annette’s body against him sends shocking waves of emotion through his entire being.

Richter folds around her, wrapping his arms tightly around her frame and holding her to him; his face seeking out her neck. She hugs him back, just as tightly and just as fiercely, her small finger tips gripping his shoulder blades. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shuddering a bit when tears wet his eyelashes.

“Oh Richter.” Annette soothes softly. “It’s okay, it’s over.”

Richter nods, he kisses her neck before pulling back slightly. “I just didn’t expect you to be waiting up.” He says trying to smile. “I missed you.”

She smiles, reaching up and smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows; pressing away the frown he didn’t know was there.

“I missed you too.”

They pull apart, only so she can close the door and Richter can shed his jacket and shoes.

“Are you hungry?” Annette asks.

“No, later. I just want out of these clothes, maybe a shower and sleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, pulling his eyebrows back down into the frown she just tried to rid him of.

“Come on then, plan A it is.” Annette says gently. She turns the tv off before taking his hand and leading towards the bathroom.

Upon entering, Richter blinks twice and looks around in surprise. Annette’s lit several candles, strategically placing them around the large bath tub he’d specifically had installed at her request five months ago. It was deep enough that they could comfortably sit and bathe together without feeling cramped. Richter had been skeptical at first but baths with Annette were soon high on his list of favorite things to do with her.

It was exactly what he needed right now and warmth spreads through his entire body when she turns on the hot water, plugs the tug and starts to add a combination of their favorite oils. She smiles prettily at him when he doesn’t immediately begin moving, his brain still sluggish despite the tiny flames of energy he felt finally being around her again.

“Take some ibuprofen. Brush your teeth. Take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll keep an eye on the water.” She says, already seated on the lip of tub.

Richter salutes her lazily, happy to hear her chuckle in amusement at him. It feels like it’s been years since he’s heard her laugh. He does as she requested of him, taking the pain pills, brushing his teeth, sneaking in a quick piss then taking off all of his clothes and stuffing them into the bathroom hamper.

When he returns to the side of the tub, Annette has turned off the water and slid down into the tub at the end where the curve of the bottom doubles as a seat.

“Come on.” She grins up at him.

Richter raises an eyebrow. Normally, he would be the one sitting there and Annette would sit either on his lap or between his legs if he was helping her wash her hair. He wasn’t sure they’d ever traded places in this way before.

“I might crush you.” He says rather lamely but Annette only rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a doll, Richter, you of all people should know that.” She smirks then splashes the water a bit. “Come on, don’t waste all this heat.”

Richter chuckles and climbs into the tub slowly, so not to slosh the water over the sides. He settles between her dark, pretty legs; leaning back against her chest her while her slim hand reaches around and presses on his sternum.

“Just relax Richter, it’s been a long month for you.” She says, kissing the shell of his ear and making him groan.

The water smells like honeysuckle, lavender and just the barest hints of cucumbers, the heat of it already turning his pale skin red as steam rises in slow waves all around them.

“Thank you,” Richter says, feeling his body sinking into the water. “For your patience and the lunches and the notes and the texts, all of it.”

Annette wraps her arms around his neck, her nose pressed into his hair behind his ear and she grins when he shivers.

“I love you Richter, I knew we’d make it through this. We just had to be patient, the time was going to pass no matter what. What would I have gained by making it difficult?”

He chuckles, gently grabbing her hands and bringing them to his lips so he can kiss the soft skin.

“I love you too Annette, I’m so glad that you let me.” He murmurs against her fingers.

They sit together for several long minutes, soaking in the heat and basking in each other’s presence. She washes his hair, fingers massaging his scalp and his temples. Her fingers are like magic, finding just the right pressure points to alleviate the throb in his head every so slightly. He’s pretty sure he lets out a pathetic moan or two that he’s grateful Annette’s nice enough to ignore.

Her fingers work their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, over his shoulders and biceps then back round to his chest. Richter watched her small hand, fingers spread wide across the broad plains of his pecs and he bites his bottom lip when she starts to slowly massage her way down.

“Annette.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering when her fingers dances along the lines of his stomach. She traces out his abs, teasing him as she playfully dips lower only to drag her fingers back up.

She giggles when his hips rock up a few times to try and bump her fingers against his half hard cock.

“Be patient Richter.” She whispers kissing his ear. “Relax and enjoy it.”

He closes his eyes, soft colors dancing behind the lids in the same patterns that Annette’s fingers are drawing on his skin. Breathing deep through his nose, Richter lets the last of his muscles relax completely. Annette seems ready for it, she never falters in her ministrations; instead she finally dips her right hand completely down and wraps her fingers around him.

The whimper that escapes Richter is pathetic. He knows it. But he doesn’t care. He’s had no time to himself for a month, he’s had this migraine for a month, his brain has been running twenty four hours a day for the last month. He’s allowed to be pathetic right now.

And it’s not like Annette would ever judge him for the sounds she’s able to pull out of him. She lives for them, and Richter lives for the things she’s willing to do to hear them. It’s a win win situation for both of them.

She licks the shell of his ear, twists her hand around his cock twice and Richter’s mind goes blissfully blank. His breath hitches, hands fisting and his teeth dig into his bottom lip.

“A-Annette…”

“Does that feel good, Richter?” She asks softly, her breath tickling his ear in a way that makes his spine tingle. She swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum around the plump head.

“Fucking yes —Annette.”

She digs the nails of her hand still on his chest into his skin, making him hiss through his clenched jaw. His hips start meeting her hand with every stroke, fucking up into her tiny fist with thinly veiled desperation.

“Richter.” Annette sighs softly,

His forces his eyes open, looking down at her pretty dark hand squeezing and jerking his weeping, hard cock. The contrast between them starts to curl Richter’s toes and his back arches when Annette opens her hand leaving just her thumb and index finger nestled under the pink engorged head, twists her hand again and Richter sees stars.

He shouts, he know he does and one of his hands grips her calf hard enough to leave deep bruises but Annette continues to stroke him as a thick stream of cum bursts from him. She kisses at his ear, biting at the shell and pinching the lobe between her teeth.

Richter thinks for a moment that he’s going to pass out and drag them both under the water.

The feeling passes, only because Annette is there to help him come down slowly. She massages his hips, gently pinches at his sides and whispers playfully in his ear until he’s able to open his eyes again.

“I…I love you—so much, Annette.” He mumbles.

“Good,” she says kissing his cheek. “Cause I feel the same way about you.”

He chuckles tiredly, a yawn sneaking out of his mouth. Annette pats his stomach,

“Come on; let’s get you into bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They end up cuddled together under the sheets. Richter tucking Annette close to him, his arms holding her tight like she’s his lifeline. And at this point he’s pretty sure she’s is.

“I want to go on vacation.” He mumbles, his face buried in neck. “Like, tomorrow.”

Annette laughs softly, her fingers intertwining with his that are spread across her stomach.

“Sleep first,” she all but demands. “Then we can talk, over breakfast.”

Richter smiles against her skin, she had know idea how excited he was to be back able to make promises of conversation and meals together.

He would never let himself be to too tied up to do so regularly again.

The End…

Thanks so much for reading y’all! I hope you liked it!

Evie 🤟🏾

#Safety Net #richette #Richter x Annette #richette smut #richette fanfic #smut #alternate universe fic #alternate universe #modern fic #evie’s stories #my writing #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania nocturne #richter belmont #annette #annette castlevania #castlevania

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sleepyjim2 · 7 months ago

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yap sesh in the tags ! <3 nothing new im just frustrated abt my disordered sleep schedule as always . woke up at 5 pm and i will probably be failing my All Dayer and going to sleep shortly At 8 am and then sleeping for 1 billion years

#text #it feels like shit all the time bc it affects Everything Else #i dont get to interact with Real People very much . i dont get any sunlight . i feel weak and sick and gross all the time #i often barely eat at all the whole time im awake bc i just dont get hungry #n i cant rlly get up during the night anyways cause i risk gettin in trouble or waking up the dogs n getting them all riled up #more often than not i will eat. just toast or cereal cause i miss dinner and then thats it all the time im awake #oh also i can barely keep track of time anymore ! i noticed this months ago but like #i only know sundays bc i hear my mom wake uo n get ready for church right before i usually go to sleep n thats abt it now lol #it doesnt rlly matter anyways i guess cause theres not Day theres just Time Im Awake For #sometimes very small . sometimes a lot longer than one day #a friend also pointed out that my suicidal thoughts seem to get worse whenever my sleep gets really bad (like once or twice a month lmao)#n those r probably related bc of everything else being worse as well #i feel like im just watching it all happen n i dont have much control over my own body or mind #i always wake up in pain or with a migraine n sometimes i have seizures in my sleep #i just spend 75% of my time lately sitting or laying down in bed doing nothing cause i cant sleep n it sucks #my mom thinks its funny how hyped i get whenever im allowed to Go Anywhere but like thats the only time im Awake For Real . alive 😭#not like we go anywhere fun but like .walmart idk. when i can go is able to pull me out of the wretched hell that is Sitting In Bed Forever #n its been like this for well over a year lol #i ride da walmart high for about 12 or so hours after n then it just goes right back to schmiserable schmiserable sitting in bed forever #my entire world has shrunk to sitting in bed forever #posting now heart emoji . hwello if anyone read this all

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vunblr · 3 months ago

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Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

------------

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

------------

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up. “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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shellshocklove · 5 months ago

Text

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants.

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use.

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic.

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel.

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed.

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap.

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt.

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation.

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya."

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks.

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that?

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you.

You could be brave– Just say it!

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure.

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan?

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home.

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand.

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason.

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped.

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt.

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks.

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form.

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks.

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless.

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck.

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder.

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock.

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand.

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug.

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing.

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass.

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity.

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man.

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away.

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth.

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly.

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out.

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub."

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal.

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to.

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you.

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built.

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles.

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum.

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin.

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans.

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

#logan howlett #logan james howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james logan howlett x reader #x-men fanfiction #lumberjack!logan #hugh jackman #*writing #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut

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mickandmusings · 7 months ago

Text

third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

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